Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying

Chapter 878: Chapter 249: St Mungo’s

A double-decker bus rolled slowly down the street, as a group of students who had just gotten off the bus laughed and squeezed into the ice cream shop at the corner, the doorbell chiming crisply as the glass door swung open and shut.

Under the parasol outside the coffee shop, a man in a linen suit was busily writing something in his notebook; not far away, inside a phone booth, a woman in a red dress was fiercely arguing into the handset.

Harry looked at the scene in surprise, suddenly feeling a bit awkward about his long school robe.

”Is this... London?” Vid noticed the street signs and blinked, asking, ”Professor, does your old friend live here?”

”Oh, not far from here, come with me.”

Albus led the two along the wide street.

Vid looked up at the tall figure of Dumbledore, his long beard and hair looked very ”Wizard-like,” and his deep purple robe with silver patterns was exceptionally striking, not to mention the golden pointed hat on his head; the visual effect was simply maxed out.

Yet none of the passersby gave them more than a glance, as if the headmaster had cast a Disillusionment Charm on everyone.

However, when people did walk towards them, they would consciously avoid colliding with the trio, as if not completely unaware of their presence.

”This Masking Spell is simply perfect,” Vid secretly marveled.

Harry widened his eyes, watching as an old lady walking a dog gently pulled her pet aside to avoid the trio, walking past Dumbledore as if their outfits were invisible, unable to help but ask curiously:

”Professor, can they even see us?”

”Of course they can see us, Harry,” Dumbledore said, ”but they’re too distracted by too many things to really pay attention.”

Just then, Vid noticed a child in a stroller staring intently at the trio, babbling and waving tiny hands, seemingly trying to attract their attention.

Harry also noticed the child and suddenly raised his hand to pinch his face, pulling a funny face that made the child laugh out loud.

The child’s mother, puzzled by the sudden laughter, also joined in, laughing unknowingly.

Vid couldn’t help but say, ”You’re becoming more and more like Sirius, Harry.”

”How so?” Harry retorted, ”If it were Sirius, he’d have scared the kid to tears with a ghostly face.”

Both of them laughed together.

Dumbledore also laughed and said, ”See, I told you they can actually see... ah, we’re here.”

In front of them stood an old red-brick department store, its display window glass thick with dust, inside were several tilted mannequin models. The store’s door was tightly shut, with a sign that read ”Closed for Renovations.”

Dumbledore signaled the two to come closer, then approached one of the female mannequins and said, ”Hello, we’re here to see Horace Slughorn.”

The mannequin nodded slightly and beckoned with its fingers. Dumbledore grabbed Vid and Harry by the arms and led them straight through the glass.

”Oh my!”

Harry couldn’t help but exclaim softly, and Vid held his breath.

He had heard about this place from different people, but it was his first time truly stepping into St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

In front of him was a crowded waiting room filled with all sorts of patients:

A worried-looking wizard sat on a bench, his mouth and nose turned into something identical to a rooster’s beak, which he couldn’t help but crow every few seconds;

A middle-aged wizard was grinning foolishly, with translucent bubbles constantly emerging from his head, displaying various memory fragments inside. His wife, holding a big yellow bag, was busily collecting these bubbles into the bag;

Two other wizards seemed to be stuck together with a Permanent Sticky Spell, with half of their arms and bodies tightly attached. When the Healer called their names, they hurriedly stood up, both trying to walk forward but stumbled with a ”bang” because their steps didn’t match.

Across the noisy waiting room was a beautifully painted portrait of a witch, her silver-white hair cascading in curls over her shoulders, looking very gentle.

”Good afternoon, Albus, and children,” the witch smiled, winking at Vid and Harry, ”I hope I won’t see you being admitted as patients.”

Vid: ”... Is that supposed to be a blessing?”

”Good afternoon, dear Dilys,” Dumbledore inquired, ”How is Horace today?”

”The same as always,” Dilys said, ”Everything’s fine with him, except he’s become a little timid. Just leaving the house would’ve frightened him to death if it were in our time.”

”Anyone who had gone through everything he experienced would become fragile,” Dumbledore said. ”Is he still in his usual room?”

”Yes,” Dilys said, ”go see him... perhaps you can cheer him up a bit.”

She glanced at Vid and Harry again, with a knowing smile on her lips.

Then, Dumbledore led the two through narrow corridors, where green-robed Healers constantly went in and out of rooms on either side, alongside some bizarre patients letting out wails.

The elevator was located next to the inquiry counter, and when they entered the elevator, there was already a pale-faced witch inside, holding her bloodied right hand, which bore a noticeable insect bite mark, causing the hand to swell like a balloon, with the skin stretched almost transparent.

Dumbledore pressed the button for the fifth floor, and Vid saw the label beside it read [Magical Injuries Department].

Just as the elevator doors were about to close, there was suddenly a cry from outside—

”Wait... sob... please wait...”

A tear-streaked wizard stumbled in, wedging his shoulder in the doorway, sobbing as he pressed the button for the fourth floor, and as the elevator ascended, his tears flowed from his eyes like a fountain.

Harry stared at him in shock, seeing someone cry as exaggeratedly as in a cartoon for the first time.

Vid turned his shoulder slightly to avoid having the man’s tears spray on him, patiently watching the numbers on the elevator change.

As soon as they reached the second floor, the witch eagerly jumped out.

When they arrived at the fourth floor, the crying wizard left too, and another patient who kept hiccupping and blowing bubbles entered, pressing the button for the sixth floor.

Vid glanced at the label: Sixth Floor [Tea Room and Shop].

Then he looked at the wizard’s hand, still clutching a printed teabag.

—Such a state of illness, yet not forgetting to have afternoon tea?

”Ding—”

Finally, they reached the fifth floor; the three stepped out of the elevator, and Harry and Vid both let out a long sigh of relief.